


White as Snow

by brothebro



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flowers, Freeform, Identity Reveal, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Melitele is the best wingman, Multi, No beta we die like melitele's patience, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Secrets, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, Sibling Jealousy, Winter, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), a bit of angst, geraskefer, god jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25069624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brothebro/pseuds/brothebro
Summary: He’s born the last of his siblings.His first breath chills the air around him, his first cry starts the first snow the Continent has ever seen and his first laugh freezes the Yaruga to her core. And so it does to the Pontar and all the rivers in the land. Even the north sea that lies below what will in the distant future be the kingdoms of Kovir and Poviss gets its own layer of ice.His mother creates a flower for him and calls him Snowdrop. The flower will bloom amidst the heavy snow.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 33
Kudos: 382
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #003





	White as Snow

He’s born the last of his siblings. 

His first breath chills the air around him, his first cry starts the first snow the Continent has ever seen and his first laugh freezes the Yaruga to her core. And so it does to the Pontar and all the rivers in the land. Even the north sea that lies below what will in the distant future be the kingdoms of Kovir and Poviss gets its own layer of ice. 

His mother creates a flower for him and calls him Snowdrop.  _ The flower will bloom amidst the heavy snow. _

For centuries he commands and shapes the weather in the Continent alongside his siblings; Magnolia, who brings the rains and thunders and turns the leaves brown and red, Hydrangea, the polar opposite of him, brings forth the warmth and sun and fires and Poppy, dearest Poppy, who brings forth bloom and soft drizzle and life.  _ He’s envious of her, but he’ll never show it.  _

And it’s fine. All is good, he likes how lovely and shiny he makes the world when his turn comes. When the first sentient residents of the Continent arrive in their beautiful, intricate ships, he’s in awe of their culture, their music, their art. And they in their turn revel him, write songs about his snow, his wonders, his rare little snowdrops that never fail to bloom each winter. No matter how harsh the cold is. 

Snowdrop quickly falls in love with them. He treasures the Aen Seidhe as they do him. He protects them, always careful not to drop the temperature lower than they can handle, and they teach him so much whenever his mother allows him to visit them in person. 

_ Melitele is kind and loves her children, gifting them physical form whenever it’s their turn to govern. She firmly believes their growth depends on them experiencing their world, she once tells him.  _

From the Aen Seidhe, he learns music. Due to them, he falls in love with the lute. 

His reign becomes something he always looks forward to. Each year. He adores people, he finds out. Mingling with them is always the most favourite part of his annual trip to the Continent. After the snow is layered upon the cold earth and the northern winds are blowing gently, cold and crisp, he descends in his physical form to visit the elves he holds dear. Until the time comes for Poppy to reign and strip the lands apart from his beautiful cold snow and ice and replace it with her green grass and colourful flowers and buzzing busy life. 

_ Sometimes, he likes to mess with her and make the winds bring frost when her flowers are in bloom. But he never crosses the line that would bring harm to all the lovely creatures of the realm.  _

Centuries pass and once more there are new arrivals at his beloved Continent. His elves call it the Convergence of the spheres. His mother calls it the Alignment. It matters not to him what it is called, what matters is the nature of the new arrivals. Humans, Dwarves and Gnomes find their place in the rich fertile lands of the Continent and flourish building kingdoms and culture and art. 

Others, beastly in nature but still welcome, settle on forests, lakes and mountains. Some even chose the sea for their residence. 

And for years this is fine. Snowdrop still visits the lands every winter, getting to know all the new arrivals better. At first, all is well whilst they still get to know the lands better, still adapt. But then, as time progresses, as cities grow bigger and stronger. As wars start to ravage the lands, the people turn on him. They blame him for their own mistakes. Of course, it’s Snowdrop’s fault they hunger when the snow comes. Of course, it’s his fault they die of the cold. 

_ It’s never their fault.  _

_ Never.  _

He slowly starts to resent his work. Never the people. And in hindsight that is his mistake, but he refuses to acknowledge it. 

He lays his eyes upon his creations all he sees is misery and death. His pure, soft snow now reminds him of hungering children seeking solace in cold damp rat-infested streets. His ice reminds him of all the poor people that have no choice but wander in frozen forests seeking food and finding instead only death. 

He hates it, so much. He hates that all he’s able to do is bring on grief. He hates it, so much.

_ He wishes he were Poppy. Every living soul loves Poppy, after all.  _

His breaking point comes when the human kingdoms wage war against the Aen Seidhe. The Great Cleansing they call it. There’s absolutely nothing great about it. On the contrary, it’s unjust and horrible. 

_ His friends die because he’s unable to protect them. He has no power during summer. No say in the world.  _

After the almost eradication of his dear people he changes. He no longer cares if the winds are too harsh if the cold is frigid bone aching, deadly deadly  _ deadly _ . The music that’s always been a constant in his existence is properly silent now. There’s no joy left in the world for him.

He doesn’t visit the realm for many decades at a time. Bearing witness to what he’s doing… it unsettles him.

_ He hates himself.  _

His mother worries for her creations, the fate of the realm but mostly she worries about him. She never stops reminding him of that. 

_ He doesn’t want to listen.  _

She lets him grieve for a couple more years and he appreciates it. The winters mellow down, less deadly than the years before and when he’s ready he speaks to her. He tells her how much he’s envious of his siblings, especially Poppy and her flowery spring. How much he wants to create rather than destroy. And she listens patiently. 

He wants to make a new start, he tells her one sunny summer day. He wants to stop being cold and loathsome and so  _ so  _ deadly. He wants to venture the land once more but he wants to do so in his terms. 

He wants to live amongst  _ them.  _ Properly this time, not only during his reign. He wants to get to know them, see why they function the way they do, with hatred, war and pain.

His mother tells him he can’t abandon his duties like that, else all will start to die eventually. He’s just as important as the rest of his siblings.  _ He does not believe that one bit.  _ Still, she offers him a compromise, one she knows he’ll have a hard time to refuse. 

_ ‘You can venture the lands the seasons of your siblings as a human’, _ she tells him, _ “But you will have to do your duties each winter, by returning here, by our side.” _

_ ‘I want a new name,’  _ he says, _ ‘One they won’t associate with winter, with myself.’ _

_ ‘Jaskier,’ _ she tells him and he finds it fitting. A small unassuming beautiful little flower, but also dangerous, its poison potent. 

And so as Jaskier he descends upon the earth in a new face, locking his godly parts tightly inside him, after having spent many long years by the side of his family. He moves to a small city called Oxenfurt, his only reason for the choice the sweet music that is to be found in every nook and cranny within its thick walls. It doesn’t take him long to fall in love with it, its people and its culture. 

He enlists himself in the Academy of Arts.

He wonders how those very same people that are capable of so much destruction can also give so much love, creation and warmth.  _ It’s not right, and yet…  _

He doesn’t want to admit it but it’s wonderful, living amongst them. And the music gods the music! It’s wild and unpredictable, trends rising and falling quicker than he can keep up to. Nothing like the structured creations of the Aen Seidhe. Still, he appreciates and loves both. 

Four years --sans the winters due to the arrangement-- he spends in the little gem of Pontar. He thinks next, he should explore and experience the rest of the Continent. Maybe even visit what remained of his friends in Dol Blathanna. And so he takes his humble mortal belongings, straps his lute case in his back and starts his dance across the Continent as a travelling bard. 

It’s… different than what he had expected. The great antithesis of the human species is so bold out there. Fear and easy friendship. Love and hate.  _ He still doesn’t understand it. _

Still, he ventures on, hopping from hovel to hovel and town to town, spreading song and joy wherever he goes (or at least wherever the people aren’t uncultured swines). 

His way leads him to a little town called Upper Posada, located in a ravine, near the end of the world.  _ But also near the ancient elven city of Dol Blathanna.  _ He makes a mental note to visit it after he’s sung to his heart’s content. 

And there he meets his witcher. A man spited by the world, much like Snowdrop is. He’s inexplicably drawn to the witcher, Geralt of Rivia, similar to the way bees are drawn to flowers.

The very first day he meets him is also the day he goes back to Dol Blathanna. It saddens him to no end to see his friends so sickly and weak, destroyed by war, famine and hatred.  _ He promises to help them, even if they don’t recognise him.  _

Geralt, he finds out, is a brilliant, kind man. Rough around the edges, sure, conversing with nought but grunts and monosyllabic responses if he can. But still, a genuinely good man that had his ‘humanity’ (Jaskier laughs at the word) stipped from him involuntarily. Harsh  _ trials  _ and experimentation on young children. Jaskier wants to find the ones that created the witchers in such a horrible horrible way and freeze them to their core. 

It doesn’t take him long to fall in love with the beautiful compassionate man. He trails after Geralt like a lovesick puppy for years until finally, after a disaster of a banquet at the Cintran court his feelings get reciprocated (and as a bonus Geralt gains a child surprise). 

It’s passionate, their love. Jaskier has never thought he’d fall in love with a mortal, but here they are. And as the first winter approaches and Magnolia nudges him gently to return to the heavenly realm he finds he doesn’t want to. He wants to stay by his witcher’s side, damn it! So he ignores Magnolia’s call, until the very last minute. 

“Come with me to Kaer Morhen for the winter,” Geralt says and Jaskier feels a sharp pain in his chest. He wants to go with his love, he really does. Alas…

“I can’t, dear heart,” he says, tears welling up treacherously in his ice-blue eyes, “My family needs me home. There’s this job that only I can do and, I’m sorry Geralt, I really am, you have no idea how much I want to come with you. Alas, it’s-”

“I understand. See you in spring songbird,” his witcher leans and kisses him softly. 

He’s fortunate that Geralt does not pressure him further, as he’s an inch away from breaking, from revealing he’s not so mortal nature to his love.  _ And he sort of wants to,  _ he admits to himself silently. 

He doesn’t like keeping secrets from Geralt. It’s wrong. But he’s afraid of losing him, of losing his love. If Geralt finds out Jaskier isn't human, has never been and will never be, how will he react? Will he shun him? Hate him? Like many of his brethren before him? 

_ Geralt had complained before when Magnolia made the winds bite into your bones, cold and frigid much like his own.  _

Jaskier is cold and ice and death, the polar opposite of what he wants to be. Geralt likes the sunny, summery Jaskier.  _ He doesn’t like Snowdrop.  _

Well, he hasn’t explicitly said so. Never once. But Geralt isn’t one to spout the gods’ names freely. 

“See you come spring, my love,” he finally says to his witcher, “I’ll wait for you in Ypsaden. May the winter be kind to you.” And Jaskier knows it will be, like every year before that because damn him but he won’t allow harm to come to his witcher. The snow will be gentle and the winds will blow softly until the time comes for them to meet again. 

And this goes on for many years to come; half a lifetime a human might say (not that he knows how long humans live. Jaskier becomes winter for three months a year, while his love holes up in this keep of his on the Blue Mountains. During these twenty-two long beautiful years they travel the world together they meet and befriend and later fall in love with a witch, after saving her sexy neck from a quite dangerous Djinn and his stupid brave Geralt binds their destinies together with his last wish.

And here they are now, Yennefer, Geralt and him, atop the dragon mountain, having saved Borch who’s probably the last golden dragon in the Continent and his unhatched offspring. And the dearest dragon goes and ruins it all by revealing to Yennefer why she’s so drawn to the witcher and the bard. 

_ Fucking flames of the underworld, be damned.  _

Yennefer storms off, leaving a heartbroken witcher behind. A witcher that hurts so much and so deeply (they were the bestest of friends and then the greatest lovers the three of them, after all) that curses at Jaskier, lashes out with sharp and cruel words. 

_ Mother save him, his love is so angry at him. So terribly angry.  _

And he can take it, he knows he can but then Geralt says something that breaks him. 

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

“Geralt, you don’t mean tha-” he stammers out, frigid cold tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Gods dammit Jaskier!” Geralt barks out, “Twenty fucking years, I’ve endured the fucking cold without you! I am a joke to you, a plaything! You keep your secrets, not trusting me one bit and leave me each fucking year alone for months!” 

“Ge-” he starts, but Geralt won’t let him voice out his thoughts. It breaks his heart to see Geralt like this, to hear these words. Because damn him thrice and leave him to burn, he loves his witcher, he really does.  _ As he does his witch, but he knows she’ll come around.  _ He’s guilty. Geralt is right. He hasn’t been truthful, there shouldn’t be any secrets among them. 

_ He’s fucked up, hasn’t he?  _

_ Great god he is… No wonder everyone hates him.  _

“Leave!” Geralt yells, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “Fucking leave already,” he now weeps softly. “I deserve to be alone.” Those last words are barely a whisper. 

Jaskier,  _ no _ , Snowdrop stands there rooted in place as Geralt is the one that finally storms off in the end, for months, unmoving, silent. Until it’s time to reign again. 

The harshest winter the Continent has seen since the Great Cleansing is the result of Snowdrop’s grieving. He promises to himself to never care for the mortals ever again, never lay a foot upon their beautiful world full of song and laughter and love. 

_ He misses love.  _

He can’t keep his promise. 

Every now and then, he lays his ethereal eyes upon his dearest witcher, his dearest witch, to check on them, see if they’re alright. 

A war is brewing once again in the vast Continent. He gets worried and keeps a closer look at his dearest people. Yennefer, Cirilla and Geralt. 

And then Cintra falls and everything goes tits up. 

His eyes never leave his people. He won’t  _ \--no _ , he’s not allowed-- to intervene but heavens above he can’t leave his dearest mortals to die like this, by evil men clad in black and gold, by twisted corrupted chaos wielded by immoral god-complex mages. 

He almost breaks his promise when dearest Ciri is in danger. First the Nilfgaardian troops, then the doppler then those thugs. But Ciri is strong, mighty godly magic running through her veins and she annihilates all her assailants with a powerful scream. 

Then he witnesses the battle upon Sodden Hill, the insanity of it all. When he sees his Yenna almost destroying herself in order to protect the world from Fringilla and her lackeys, he breaks. The tight lock that he had placed upon his heart shatters in a million pieces and suddenly he becomes what he always tried so hard to keep hidden. 

He becomes an avalanche. Fierce and dangerous he leaps on the mortal realm and stands by his sorceress’ side as she’s gathering all the chaos around her making a fire so big it could challenge his brother’s, Hydrangea’s, warmest heatwaves. 

“Yenna, dearest Yenna,” he sings to her, “You’re hurting yourself. Please, I beg you, release some of the chaos. I’ll help you, love,” he places an ice-cold hand on her shoulder, materializing in the only way he knows without his mother’s help.

“Jaskier?” his witch’s voice breaks and Snowdrop’s,  _ no _ , Jaskier’s frozen heart beats again. 

“I’m here,” he says, his voice a soothing morning chill, “I’ll take the right side, you take the left.”

It’s a song of ice an fire. Polar opposites, an antithesis if you might, but they work together in harmony.  _ It’s bizarre but he won’t question it.  _

The Nilfgaardian army doesn’t stand a chance against their joined forces. And Jaskier’s is for once in his eternal existence glad for his godly domain. Fire and ice devour their enemies leaving nought but destruction in their wake. 

_ ‘Snowdrop,’  _ his mother calls suddenly and a chill runs down his spine,  _ ‘Your Witcher and his child need your help.’ _

He sees through her eyes, not far from where he is, his Witcher hurt, his movements sluggish, trying to defend the young princess from a small army of mages.  _ Nilfgaard.  _ He has to go there quick, before, before-- He doesn’t want to think about it. 

He places a small frozen kiss on Yennefer’s crown and tells her to rest and wait for him. That he’ll be back with their idiot witcher and his adorable bright daughter. She smiles softly at him, caressing his frozen form with one impossibly warm hand. 

Jaskier rides the northern wind and within moments he lands in the middle of the battlefield. Geralt’s wounded and barely standing, forming Heliotrope with both his hands as a barrage of spells try to hit him and Cirilla. 

“Enough of this!” Jaskier shouts with the power of an ice storm and like an ice storm, he freezes the mages on the spot before he moves quick as lightning and crushes them, breaking them in a million tiny crystals. 

_ Good fucking riddance.  _

Jaskier gathers his shifting godly form in the shape of his human --as human a being made of ice can be-- self and moves closer to the Witcher and the child, who are now both hugging each other tightly shivering from the unexpected assault of the frigid cold. 

__

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” he questions but all he gets in response is a low protective growl from his witcher. “I know you don’t want to see me, Geralt,” he says getting on his knees and smiling as nonthreateningly as he can muster, “I know you don’t want to see me and I’m sorry you have to, but know this, I’ll always protect you my love, Yenna and you both.”

“Who are you?” his witcher asks and Jaskier wonders how little he must resemble the bard the man once knew. How different his chilly voice is compared to the sunshine Jaskier’s was. 

“Mother please,” he says to the heavens, “Please give me my human form once more.”

And because his mother is gracious, because his mother is love, she answers he pleads and he’s Jaskier, the real bubbly Jaskier again. 

“Hi,” he greets his loved ones merrily, “You may know me as Jaskier-”

“Jaskier?” the witcher sounds surprised, “What- what happened to you?” and oh so sad. 

“All in order love. As I was saying, you may know me as Jaskier, the people of the Continent though know me by other names; Snowdrop, Snow or even Winter. I’m sorry I did not tell you Geralt, believe me, I am.”

“You’re the god of winter,” Ciri says in realization and Jaskier nods, a small melodic chuckle making its way up to his throat. 

“That’s why you would never winter with me, with us,” Geralt whispers softly. “Does Yennefer know?”

“Does Yennefer know what?” Yennefer appears from a portal as if summoned. 

“Yenna, dear heart, I thought I told you to rest!” Jaskier looks at her worryingly. 

“I see, your momma gave you back that flesh bag body of yours, Snow,” she snarks playfully and gives him a small peck on the cheek. 

“You knew?” Geralt and Jaskier ask in unison. 

“I’ve had my suspicions quite some time now,” she responds truthfully, “But after today’s display all fell into place. Thank you, Jaskier. Truly thank you.” He smiles softly at her, but he knows it’s not enough. 

“I am sorry, both of you,” he repeats, “I was so afraid I would lose you, that- that you would hate me if you found out, that I kept this big mountain troll of a secret and hurt you both in the process. I hope you will find it in your hearts to forgive me in time.” He gets up, dusting off the ice blue pants he’s wearing. Geralt reaches a weak hand to him, tugging gently at the fabric of Jaskier’s clothes.  _ Stay,  _ his eyes say. But he can’t stay now, can he? “Know that I loved you both, truly. For now, I need to go back to--”

‘ _Oh, you silly son of mine_ ,’ his mother’s voice thunders from the sky and every living person in the small frozen clearing, looks up instinctively. ‘ _You may stay in the realm of people with your loved ones as long as you do not forgo your job._ ” 

“But do they want me? To stay with them?” he questions out loud. 

“We do, you fool,” Yennefer says, moving to embrace him. 

“We do,” Geralt echoes, holding him tightly. 

“I love you.”

“We love you too, Snowdrop.”


End file.
